


if you really hold me tight (all the way home I'll be warm)

by carrey



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, ian/mickey/svet/yev at christmas, the first one-shot I've completed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrey/pseuds/carrey
Summary: They put up the decorations together — Yev directing, with Ian draping the lights across the top branches and putting the decorations in the hard-to-reach spots. Mickey lets Yev sit on his shoulders so he can place the star on top, while Svetlana reclines on one of the couches, a beer in hand.-Ian and Mickey and Svetlana and Yevgeny, making it work despite everything.For the Gallavich Gift Exchange





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [koganphrancis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/koganphrancis/gifts).



> This is my work for the Gallavich Gift Exchange 2016, for koganphrancis. I hope you like it! It turned out way differently to how I was planning, and way, way longer than I'd anticipated!  
> A massive congrats to everyone who participated and especially to gallavichthings, who ran it!  
> Note: it's canon-divergent from 6x01

It’s freezing as he lets himself out of the house and heads to work, getting on the L and taking it the few stops to the garage. Mickey’s wrapped in a thick coat, scarf on and beanie pulled down low. He feels like the Stay Puft marshmallow man but the heater’s broken at the house and the mornings are icy so he doesn’t mind too much.

He gets in early each morning, unlocking the garage and then setting himself up in the tiny office adjoining the main warehouse space. 

He’d gotten the job at the garage through a guy he’d known in prison, who’d gotten out and started the business about a year before Mickey. The guys he worked with were good, kept to themselves mostly which suited Mickey just fine. Most of the work is admin stuff, finances and numbers, not a far cry from the work he’d done for Kev at the Alibi right after he got out. The hours were good and the pay was decent and it was better than most of the things he could get with a criminal record. It might have only been a reduced sentence, down from eight years to four because of a lack of evidence, but it was still a big ugly stain on his record. Getting his GED in prison had helped, meant that despite the prison sentence he was actually a hell of a lot more qualified than he’d been when he went in, but he was still, technically, a convicted felon.

He flicks on the main computer and pulls out the folders of statements and finance records. It isn’t the busiest time of the year — that honour falls to the weeks just after New Year, as everyone attempts to fulfil their resolutions to be more organised this year and actually get their cars serviced, or, commonly, total their car on the icy streets — but the weeks before Christmas are pretty fucking busy too, everyone getting ready for the obligatory migration home for the holidays. Not that he’s seen that yet, with this his first Christmas out of prison, but Asher’s been wound tight as a string since mid-November and almost slapped Lopez for suggesting they play carols, so it’s looking to be pretty fucking stressful. 

It’s not like Mickey’s been much better — he’s been working overtime the last couple of weeks, saving for the inevitable money-suck that is the holiday season, and he’s been exhausted. He’s not cut out for getting up in the morning while it’s still dark outside and getting back late into the evening. 

He’s glad when his shift ends, the last one before they shut for Christmas. He picks up his stuff from the office and then heads towards the L, pulling his jacket tight against the bitterly cold wind. The train ride is short and relatively empty, with most people already off work. 

He lets himself into the house as quietly as possible, shrugging off his various layers of clothing and toeing off his boots. The light is on in the kitchen but the rest of the house is dark, and he makes himself a slice of toast before flicking the switch and heading into the bedroom. 

He crawls into bed, trying to be quiet, but Ian stirs anyway, mumbling incoherently.

“Shh,” he whispers, one hand on the small of Ian’s back. “Go back to sleep.”

 Instead, Ian twists a little, blinking sleepily in Mickey’s direction as he pulls himself closer, hand coming up to cradle Mickey’s cheek. He pulls him in for a kiss, slow at first, lips soft and gentle. Ian still seems poised to fall back asleep so Mickey pulls back, attaching his mouth to the hinge of Ian’s jaw, sucking lightly. That elicits a moan from Ian and Mickey grins against the skin of his neck, moving down towards his collarbone as Ian slips a hand under Mickey’s shirt, suddenly more alert. He doesn’t seem in any hurry to pull it off, just running his hands down Mickey’s chest and across his stomach then back up to his shoulders. 

After a few minutes Mickey tires of the pace, grabbing the hem of Ian’s shirt and pulling it up, allowing Ian to shimmy out of it. As soon as he’s out of it Mickey straddles him, leaning down to attach his lips to Ian’s chest. Ian puts his hands on Mickey’s thighs, running them over his jeans and then hooking them underneath and pulling Mickey forward, desperate for the friction. Mickey sits back and Ian practically whines as Mickey deftly unbuttons his pants, pulling them down with Ian’s boxers. Mickey spits into his hand and then grips Ian’s length, working his hand up and down at a devastatingly slow pace. Ian’s breath is coming out more as pants now, and he seems to have lost the capacity to speak, moaning out _please_ and _Mick_ and _faster_ , hands grasping at the sheets. 

“Looks like someone’s woken up,” Mickey says, laughing a little as Ian makes a noise in the back of his throat, hands gripping Mickey’s hips tightly. 

Mickey leans down to kiss him and Ian reaches up to pull off Mickey’s shirt, running his hands again over Mickey’s chest and then further down, towards his waist. Mickey unbuttons his pants and pulls them off with his boxers, settling back against Ian, chests pressed together. Ian thrusts upwards, trying to get friction, and Mickey moans, face pressed against Ian’s shoulder. 

“Want — _oh fuck Mickey_ — want to fuck you,” Ian says, though it comes out more as a groan.

In response Mickey pulls back, rolling off of Ian as the latter reaches for the lube. He squirts some into his hand, rubbing it between his palms to warm it a little, and then straddles the backs of Mickey’s thighs, working Mickey open slowly. 

He only stops when Mickey’s ‘ _oh yeah fuck_ ’s turn into ‘ _fuck Ian faster_ ’ and then ‘ _need you to fuck me_ ’. He pushes in slowly, hands gripping Mickey’s hips, and begins to move. 

He sets a gruelling pace, and Mickey is practically falling to pieces beneath him. Ian’s lost all coherency, his voice a litany of “Jesus, Mickey, fuck,” as he moves, as if he’s held together only by Mickey, the warmth and solidness of his body beneath and around him.

He reaches around and begins stroking Mickey’s dick and it’s only moments before Mickey’s coming into his hand, muscles clenching around Ian who comes only a few thrusts afterwards. Ian pulls out and they collapse on the bed, too tired to get up and clean themselves or the sheets.

“Miss you,” Mickey breathes out, barely audible, his face in the crook of Ian’s neck. Ian runs his fingers along Mickey’s arm and then over his back, causing Mickey to sigh.

“Miss you too,” he whispers, placing a kiss against the top of Mickey’s head.

—

They head out present shopping the next day, Ian dragging a reluctant Mickey to the mall. The three of them — Mickey, Ian and Svetlana — are getting Yevgeny some soccer gear, but they’re each also getting him something else and of course Mickey’s left it to the couple of days before Christmas. 

They head through the crowded mall, stopping at shops at random and browsing without any clear idea of what they’re getting. It’s about half an hour in that Ian can tell Mickey’s getting antsy, tapping his foot and huffing impatiently every time they stop.

“Wanna head outside for a bit?” Ian asks, and Mickey practically sighs in relief.

Once they’re standing outside the building he lights up a cigarette, and simply the act of holding it between his fingers relaxes him, eases some of the tension out of his shoulders. 

“Never coming to a fucking mall again,” he gripes still, never one to pass up an opportunity to complain, scowling up at the sign.

“Not even to get me my present?”

“What makes you think you’re getting a present, huh?”

Ian just rolls his eyes, knocking Mickey with his shoulder as the latter huffs out a laugh.

“It’s nice, though, right?” Mickey raises his eyebrows and Ian raises his to match until finally Mickey sighs, rubbing his lip and shrugging.

It is nice. Not the mall or the shoppers or the nonstop carols, but the effort Ian’s putting in. The fact that it’s just the four of them — him, Ian, Yev and Svet — for the next week, no work or school. The fact that he knows that Ian is going all out for him, that he still thinks that Mickey deserves good things.

He doesn’t know how to say that, though, so he settles for, “Yeah, it’s nice.” 

Ian smiles, softer than before, as if he knows what Mickey hasn’t said. “Yev’s excited.”

“What kid is not excited about Christmas?” Mickey asks, but a voice in his head says you weren’t. Christmas for Mickey hadn’t meant anything, not until this year.

“This year’s different,” Ian says, and it’s like he’s echoing his thoughts. “He gets his family, his whole family, with him.”

“First Christmas without any of his immediate family incarcerated, kid sure doesn’t have high standards,” Mickey mutters and almost immediately regrets it. 

“Fuck off, you know it’s more than that.” 

He does. He knows it’s not just about getting extra presents or even Mickey being here — it’s the fact that they’re a family now, properly, for the first time. 

Ian’s still watching him, as if he’s waiting for something, for Mickey to say something.

“That first time Svet visited me in prison, she didn't have Yev,” Mickey begins, and Ian looks surprised, but he turns to face Mickey properly. “She just needed me to be her husband for Immigration. Being a father hadn’t- it hadn’t even occurred to me that I could still be a parent while I was locked up. Or that I could be a parent afterwards.” He had thought that he would be out of Yev’s life forever, and honestly he wouldn’t have blamed Svetlana. He’d thought Yev would’ve been better off anyway, like he would have been if Terry hadn’t been in his life.

“But then she came back, and she brought Yev, and I wasn’t sure if I was able to be his dad. And I’m still not sure.” He doesn’t make eye contact with Ian, doesn’t wanna see the expression there, pity maybe, or guilt. 

“You’re a good parent, Mick. You care about him, you love him.”

“Not really a high bar to set.”

“t’s more than any of our fathers ever did for us,” Mickey lets out a half-sigh half-laugh and Ian grins back at him, but it slips quickly. “You’re doing good, Mick.”

Mickey doesn’t answer, can’t even really look at him, but something in his chest lightens a little, and they stand there in silence until Mickey finishes his cigarette and they go back inside.

They head to the wing they hadn’t yet explored, pushing past crowds of ugly-sweater-clad shoppers.

“Wanna go in here?” Mickey gestures towards the bookstore at the end of the section.  
 “For Svet?”

“Nah man, for Yevgeny.” 

Ian nods, looking relieved to step out of the crowds and into the refuge of the store. It’s still busy inside but relatively quiet, for which Mickey is thankful. 

They head to the kid’s section, stepping around strollers and the people standing in the middle of an aisle, looking totally engrossed in their books. They can’t see anyone who might be able to offer help so they peruse the section at random, picking out books that look vaguely interesting.

“What were you thinking?” Ian asks, flicking through some picture books.

“I don’t know, easy chapter books or some shit? He’s getting too old for the picture books.”

“How about the classics?” Ian points to a shelf above them, pulling one out at random. “‘Lord of the Flies’? That’s a classic, right?”

“Not for Yev.” Mickey snorts. “’s way too violent,” he explains when Ian raises an eyebrow. “Don’t need to traumatise the kid with all of the dead pig stuff.”

“Did you read it?” Ian looks at him, surprised.

Mickey shrugs. “Fuck all to do in prison but read, man. Got through a lot of books.”

“Anything you’d recommend?” 

“Not for a five year old. Might not be great at reading but I’m not that bad.” Ian looks alarmed and Mickey laughs, Ian easing up a bit when he sees that Mickey’s not offended.

“Reckon we’re just gonna have to ask someone,” Ian concedes, and Mickey crosses his arms and leans against the shelf behind him. Ian rolls his eyes at the clear signal that Mickey’s not going anywhere and heads towards the front counter.

They end up leaving with a bag of books, mostly for Yev but a couple that Ian had wanted to get for his family, and a couple of books he’d gotten for Mickey, forcing the latter to wait outside the shop while he bought them.

“Can’t I just have the books now?”

“Nope, you’re unwrapping these at Christmas.”

Mickey attempts to scowl but he can feel the corners of his mouth betraying him, twisting upwards to match Ian’s grin. He mutters something and Ian’s grin grows wider.

“What was that?”

“I said, might be nice to get some at Christmas. Svet’s getting me a scarf.”

“How’d you know?”

“Asked me. Said it was that or socks, and I got plenty of socks.” He turns to Ian properly now and clears his throat. “Now, unless you want coal in your stocking — or a scarf — you gotta tell me what you want.”

“You don’t need to get me anything.”

“Fuck off man, of course I’m getting you something.”

“Fine then. All I want for Christmas is you.”

Mickey opens his mouth, no doubt to tell Ian off for saying something so cheesy, but then he pauses. “That’s a song, right?”

“Yes Mick, well done. It is only the most popular Christmas song of the last two decades.”

“They didn’t play carols in prison, man. Or in the Milkovich household. Only ones I know are ‘Let It Snow’ and ‘Good King Wenceslas’.”

“How the fuck do you know ‘ _Good King Wenceslas_ ’?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Mickey grins and Ian shakes his head, but the corners of his lips are threatening a smile.

—

They’d gotten the Christmas decorations out of the attic after dinner — most had been bought by Ian in years previous, but he also pulls out another box of decorations that were newer, most not even unwrapped.  
 It’s Mickey’s first time with a proper tree, not counting the time Mandy had stolen a pot plant from a neighbour and her and her brothers had wrapped some bargain store tinsel around it. No one had bothered to remove it after Christmas, though, and it had sat there collecting dust until Terry smashed it during one of his drunken rages.

Ian’s gone all out this year, though, light and baubles and tinsel (still bargain store, Mickey suspects, but festive nonetheless). Yev tears open the boxes and pulls out the decorations, heaping them onto the couch.

Ian heads to the kitchen to make Yev a hot chocolate and get beers for Mickey and Svet, opening a can of soda for himself.

“This is insane, man, how much did you get?” Mickey calls out. Ian stands in the doorway, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck and looking a little embarrassed. 

“Is it too much?” 

“Looks like Yev’s loving it,” Mickey concedes and they both glance over to where he’s standing on top of the couch, surveying the tree, oblivious to their conversation.

“And you?” 

Mickey goes over to Ian and wraps his arms around his waist, pretending to consider it. Ian interrupts the dramatic display by leaning down and pressing his lips against Mickey’s, effectively ending all argument. “Still insane,” Mickey murmurs as they pull apart, and Ian grins, “but I think I might be able to bear it.” 

Svetlana makes a sound and mutters something in Russian, so Mickey gives Ian one last peck and then disentangles himself, heading back into to the living room.

They put up the decorations together — Yev directing, with Ian draping the lights across the top branches and putting the decorations in the hard-to-reach spots. Mickey lets Yev sit on his shoulders so he can place the star on top, while Svetlana reclines on one of the couches, a beer in hand.

“You gonna help, Svet?” 

“No. I am enjoying this father-son bonding, and not having to do the work this year,” she says with a grin.

Once they’re finished they flick off the overhead lights and turn on the Christmas lights, settling in front of the television. Within a few minutes Yev’s falling asleep, leaning further onto an equally-sleepy Ian.

“Come on, time for bed,” Mickey says to Yev, and though he protests weakly, he lets himself be folded into Mickey’s arms, head held against Mickey’s shoulder. Mickey loves just being able to hold him, so he’s a little reluctant to let him go, lowering him into bed and unwrapping Yev’s hands from where they’re fisted in Mickey’s jumper.

He goes back into the living room and wakes Ian up, murmuring “c’mon, you too.”

“I’ll stay up,” Ian mumbles, blinking blearily at Mickey.

“Nah, man, you’ll just fuck up your schedule. Plus you’re practically asleep already.”

“You going to carry Carrot Boy, too?” Svet asks teasingly and Mickey flips her off, but does kiss Ian softly before Ian gets into bed.  
 “You’re not coming?” Ian asks from where he’s crawled under the covers.

“I’ll be in soon, gotta do some stuff first,” he says, but Ian appears to have already fallen asleep so he shuts the door softly and heads back into the living room.

Svetlana takes the plates to the kitchen while Mickey packs up the decorations.

“You have gone shopping, yes?” she asks when Mickey joins her in the kitchen.

“Yeah, got Yev some books.”

“I have gotten Zhenya a tablet.” 

A tablet? _Shit._ “I can’t compete with that. You know I can’t get him something like that.” He’s struggling to keep his voice down, conscious of Ian and Yev asleep in the next rooms.

“This is not about who spends most money. Yevgeny is happy with anything you give him.”

“Exactly, that’s the fucking problem.” He knows he’s speaking too loud, that he’s going to wake up either one of them, but he can’t seem to speak quieter.

“What do you mean?” Svetlana has both hands on her hips, the dish rag in one hand.

“I feel like — fuck, I feel like I don’t even fucking know him sometimes. Like once the ‘dad’ novelty wears off, I’m nothing to him. I can’t compete with you.” He’s not usually so vocal about his feelings, hasn’t even really thought about it this much, but it feels cathartic to finally voice everything that’s been simmering below the surface, so hey, maybe that prison therapist had the right idea with the whole ‘talk about your feelings’ thing.

“This is not competition, Misha.” She looks at him sternly, but not angrily, her face set and eyes blazing. “We-“ she gestures between the two of them and then, to Mickey’s surprise, to the room where Ian is sleeping, “are Yevgeny’s parents. We raise him together.”

He runs a hand through his hair, not sure how to say it, how to express the intense loss he feels, has felt since he got out, and then before, probably from Svetlana’s first visit to him in prison. “I just missed so fucking much.”

“You know things about him that I will never understand. You think he comes to me with problems? He wants father’s advice. I cannot give that to him.” She looks almost bitter, mouth turning down at the corners and a palpable sense of regret in her voice. “I raise him while you are gone, but moment you are released, all he wants is you.”

Mickey opens his mouth to argue — to point out _how fucking unfair it is_ for her to blame him for that — but she shakes her head.

“This is not competition about who misses Zhenya more. You missed him then and I miss him now.” Mickey’s taken aback by her words, he’d never imagined she’d felt like she’d been abandoned. Mickey felt like he’d spent the past nine months trying to play catch-up, trying to slot himself into a life that was already established, fearing that he just might not fit. 

It’s as if she can read his mind, pursing her lips and putting her tea down to spread her arms out, gesturing to tree in the corner and the lights and the presents. “We’re trying, Misha. This isn’t easy. We know. But we try, for Zhenya.” She shrugs a little and Mickey thinks it might be the first time she’s looked like she’s as much at a loss as Mickey is.

He bites back any response he might have had and nods. She looks a little surprised but steps forwards, laying a hand on his elbow. “We are a family, we work it out.” He nods again and she smiles softly at him and then heads to her bedroom.

He brushes his teeth and then crawls into bed next to Ian, wrapping his fingers around Ian’s arm, and he warms a little when, unconsciously, Ian shuffles closer to him, pressing against Mickey, and they fall asleep like that, curled around each other.

—

Mickey wakes to the sound of gates unlatching and then metal scraping against metal. He opens his eyes and stares out into the dark cell — he can make out the bunk opposite his and the figure in it under the thin blanket, only the shape of his shoulders visible.

The lights flick on and there’s a figure — grey uniform, steel-capped boots, shaved head — standing in the doorway. 

“Rise and shine, Milkovich.” 

—

He wakes with a start, immediately aware of the wall against his back and the breathing of his cellmate — but no, it’s softer, more familiar. He rolls over, reaching out blindly, and his hands hit not the end of the thin mattress but the figure beside him, curled away from him. 

Ian stirs and rolls over, rubbing his eyes as he squints at Mickey. He feels a flash of guilt for waking Ian up, knowing how hard he finds it to fall back asleep.

“You alright?” 

In response, Mickey shuffles closer, slipping a hand over Ian’s waist and allowing himself to be tucked into Ian’s chest. “Fine.”

“Nightmare?” Mickey shrugs as best he can in his position. “Wanna talk about it?” 

“Nope.” He knows Ian’s barely conscious as it is, can hear it in the thickness of his voice, so he tightens his arm around Ian’s waist and lays his head down on the other man’s chest.

Ian slips back into sleep within seconds, his breathing evening out and his arm loosening, and Mickey is slowly lulled to sleep by the beat of Ian’s heartbeat.

—

They wake a few hours later to the sound of Yevgeny knocking on their door, yelling “it’s Christmas Eve” through the keyhole and jingling a bell. They both groan a little but roll out of bed, pulling on pants over their boxers. Ian heads to the bathroom to take his meds and Mickey heads out into the living room.

Svetlana’s already there, a ridiculous green sweater on over her pyjamas, helping Yevgeny onto the stool in front of the sink.

“We’re making pancakes, daddy,” he grins, splashing water across the floor when he points to the mixture in a bowl on the counter.    
“From scratch? Nice job,” Ian says, coming back into the kitchen to wrap his arms around Mickey’s waist.

“Turning out to be a real chef,” Mickey adds and Yev beams with pride.

They sit down for breakfast once the pancakes are done, Yevgeny between Mickey and Svetlana with Ian opposite him so they can make faces at each other. Svet tsks disapprovingly when Yev starts drawing in his maple syrup and mutters disapprovingly in Russian, and he scowls as he takes his plate to the sink.

Mickey goes over to help wash up and they make beards with the dishwashing bubbles and Svetlana reluctantly joins in, letting Yev dollop some bubbles onto the tip of her nose, which promptly slide off and splatter across the floor. 

“Are you excited for your first Christmas, dad?” Yevgeny asks as Ian gets a mop from the laundry and starts wiping the floor.

“First?” Mickey raises an eyebrow at him.

“That’s what Ian called it. He said it was like your first Christmas because you haven’t had a proper one.”

Mickey glances over at Ian who looks startled and a little abashed, as if he’d been caught out. 

“Yeah, ‘m excited for my first Christmas with you,” he answers, the words getting caught in his throat. 

“Me too,” Yev says, and it makes him smile but Mickey would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt a bit, too.

—

They head over to the Gallagher house for dinner.

Kev and Vee turn up, twins in tow, as well as Vee’s mum and Dominic. The three of them and Yevgeny head outside immediately, while the adults congregate in the kitchen. 

They sit down for dinner, the kids in the lounge room and the adults around the kitchen table. There isn’t really enough space but they squeeze in anyway, using Kev and Vee’s chairs as well as the Gallagher’s.

Ian’s hand rests against Mickey’s leg for most of the meal, his thumb moving back and forth so rhythmically that Mickey suspects Ian isn’t even aware of it.

He’s tuned out most of their conversation, concentrating on the food and Ian beside him, the warmth of his hand, but tunes back in when Vee gives a shriek of laughter.

“Carl used to lay traps for Santa and the reindeer, leaving rat traps all around the front door.” Fiona reaches out a hand to ruffle Carl’s hair and he groans, rolling his eyes.

“Caught Frank a few times, though, so they were good for something,” Lip interjects and they all laugh.

“What was Christmas like in prison, dad?” Yev asks, looking across the table at Mickey. The people around them go silent — Ian, Debbie and Fi look embarrassed, while Lip looks somewhat amused and Carl appears disturbingly interested. Kev makes a show of serving himself some potato salad, clattering the tongs against the bowl and scraping his crockery against his plate, until Vee shushes him. 

“The food wasn’t nearly this good,” Mickey says, glancing at Svetlana who smiles weakly and puts her hand on Yevgeny’s shoulder. The kid looks satisfied enough with the answer and the conversation gradually resumes around them.

They finish dinner a while later and Mickey steps outside for a cigarette, noticing Carl leaning against the railing. They’ve become sort of friends over the last few months, hanging out at the Alibi while Mickey worked there and then gravitating towards each other at any Gallagher family event, so he doesn’t head back inside. Instead, he shuts the door, blocking out most of the noise from inside the house and throwing them into near darkness.

Carl acknowledges him with a nod, holding out a lighter as Mickey pulls out a pack from his pocket. 

“How’s it going?”

Mickey shrugs. “Busy. Christmas is a fucking nightmare.”

“Never been to a mall in mid-December?” Carl laughs.

“Nope. Never going again, either. That shit’s insane.” He’s being dramatic, but beneath the comic expression of fear is something else — bewilderment, or a sense of deep-seated discomfort — and Carl can’t help but picture his Christmases before, with Terry and the rest of Mickey’s family. Him and his siblings might have been poor as fuck but Fiona had still made sure they exchanged presents, had a tree, had a huge lunch on Christmas day, all the typical stuff. From Mickey’s general lack of familiarity with all the rituals so far, Carl was certain that Christmases with the Milkoviches hadn’t been anything like that.

“What about you?” Mickey asks around the cigarette, pulling Carl back to the cold porch. 

“Eh, not bad.” He pauses and looks up at the thick grey clouds above them, breathing in deep. “Looks like I’m gonna graduate, actually gonna be a cop,” he says finally, shrugging a little when Mickey glances over in surprise. 

Mickey tries to picture it, but can’t. Last time he’d seen him, Carl was certainly on his way to the police station — just on the other side of the desk. He says as much to Carl, who just grins and puts a hand over his heart dramatically.

“I’m a changed man, Mickey.” He turns serious for a moment, glancing over Mickey. “Figured you’d understand that.”

“Congrats, man. Seriously. Just don’t fuckin’ arrest me.” Carl rolls his eyes but they’re both laughing.

“Wouldn’t dare.”

“Too fuckin’ right,” Mickey mutters, waving his cigarette at him.

“Didn’t think-“ Carl begins after a pause, and Mickey raises his eyebrows, a wordless signal to continue. “Didn’t think I’d ever do it.”

“Become a cop?”

“Turn my life around. Graduate. Any of it.”

“You’ve done good,” Mickey says, sincerely.

“You too.”

Mickey nods but doesn’t say anything, and the two of them smoke in silence until it burns down to the filter and the cold forces them indoors.

Inside, he kitchen is a mess, piles of dishes and cooking things across the counter, Ian, Fiona and Vee putting the food away while Lip washes dishes. Svetlana is putting the television on for the kids, some Christmas movie, and Kev and Debbie are talking, leaning against the counter and facing the back door, so they’re the only ones who see them come in. 

Debbie immediately heads towards Carl, berating him for borrowing her headphones without asking or something, so Mickey heads over towards Kev, pulling up a stool. He sits there and watches them — well, watches Ian — while they put away the last of it and Fiona herds them into the living room. 

Ian glances over at him from where he’s standing in the kitchen and his eyes immediately soften, his cheeks pulling up a little at the corner as if he doesn’t even realise he’s smiling. They head into the lounge room together, though all the couches are occupied, so Ian leans against the wall, wrapping his arms around Mickey’s waist from behind and letting Mickey rest back against his chest. It’s like this wherever they go, Mickey’s noticed — they just kind of gravitate towards each other, almost unconsciously, like they don’t ever really feel comfortable when they’re apart, like being together is the first breath of air, every time. 

Ignoring the movie, Mickey closes his eyes, leaning his head back and subtly pulling Ian’s arms tighter around him.

“Having fun?” Ian whispers, leaning down and putting his lips against Mickey’s ear.

“Am now,” he answers and can picture Ian’s expression — eyes soft, mouth turned up at the corners.

“Get a room!” Kev yells from the seat he’s taken on the couch.

“Wanna head home?” Ian whispers.

Mickey hums a laugh, twisting around to face Ian and raising his eyebrows lasciviously, and Ian backtracks. “Not to fuck. Just wanna spend time with you.”

They shrug on their coats and say their farewells, with Svetlana promising to come back soon, “but not too soon. We will give you some time alone.” She sends them a thoroughly unsubtle wink and Fiona and Vee giggle, sending them off with their own waves.

They do fuck, but it’s slow and it’s deliberate, lingering touches and slow kisses. Afterwards, they curl up together, under the sheets, legs tangled together and heads tilted towards each other.

“Are you happy with all of this?” Ian asks, pulling Mickey out of his doze.

“What do you mean?”

“Living here, with me. You didn’t- you didn’t have to.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just because-“ Ian stops and takes a deep breath. “When I started visiting you in prison, it wasn’t for a relationship or anything. I’d just started taking my meds, gotten my life sorted, and I realised that something was missing, _you_ were missing. I just wanted to have you, in any way I could.” 

When Ian had started visiting him, a few months into his sentence, he’d mostly just gone with Svet and Yevgeny, sitting behind them and not talking much. He’d still looked pretty rough, dark circles under his eyes and buzzing with barely contained energy, but over the proceeding months he’d started to recover, looking better every week.

“And when you got out, we just went back to how it was. But I’m not sure I ever gave you a choice, over the last eight months. You don’t have to stay with me.”

“Are you fucking kidding? Ian, you’re it for me, there’s never been anyone else.” He rubs his finger across his bottom lip, seeking the familiar reassurance of the gesture. “But you, you know, shouldn’t feel obliged to stay.”

“I don’t. I’ve had plenty of chances to leave — I did, twice, and they were the worst decisions of my life, and I’m never making the choice again. You're it for me, Mickey, you’re my family.”

They lie together like that, Ian curled around Mickey, his arm draped over Mickey’s waist and his face pressed against Mickey’s neck, until they fall asleep. At some point in the night Mickey turns over, tucking himself under Ian’s arm, which tightens around Mickey’s waist, pulling him closer. Any sense of not belonging here is gone, there’s no doubt in him, not with Ian, just a complete certainty that this is where he’s meant to be.

—

The light streaming through the window wakes Mickey up several hours earlier than he’d planned and he groans and rolls over, pulling his pillow over his eyes. Ian grunts beside him, hand reaching out and yanking back what Mickey realises too late is in fact Ian’s pillow. Mickey reaches up for it anyway, trying to pull it back, but it’s a weird angle and Ian’s too strong, so he manages to pull it away.

Mickey’s ready to go back to sleep, pillow or not, when he feels the mattress move, and then Ian’s straddling him. Mickey reaches up and pulls him down onto him. The kiss is slow, without hurry or any intention other than to feel the other’s body. 

After several minutes — or perhaps days — Ian pulls back, kneeling over Mickey as he pulls off Mickey’s boxers, freeing his almost painfully hard dick. Ian wraps a hand around him and starts working him, the other hand running across Mickey’s chest, as he gasps and writhes under Ian.

Ian runs his hand over one of Mickey’s nipples and he actually fucking moans, hips canting up a little in an attempt to increase the friction. Ian presses his hand against Mickey’s hip and the instruction is clear, don’t move, and then he’s working his hand faster, until Mickey comes, breathing heavy and his whole body lighting up, electric. 

Mickey rolls them over and pulls down Ian’s boxers, attaching his mouth to Ian’s dick, licking and sucking until Ian’s coming, gasping through his orgasm.

Mickey collapses beside him, both of them spent and content to just lie there.

“Good way to start the day?” Ian asks, grinning.

“What do you think?” Mickey asks, not even bothering to raise an eyebrow, hoping the message is obvious enough in his tone. 

Ian’s grin slips off, replaced by a new sincerity. “Merry Christmas, Mick.” 

Mickey slides a hand against Ian’s cheek, and then his jaw, fingers running through the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Merry Christmas, Ian.”

—

They unwrap presents after breakfast. Svetlana puts on Christmas carols and they all sit on the couches, letting Yev act as Santa and give out the presents. There aren’t many but it’s sure as fuck more than Mickey’s ever seen before, except for the one time he’d been over to the Gallagher’s in the week before Christmas and seen the piles of stuff in the corner of their lounge room. 

Mandy has mailed over some DVDs for them, including some Van Damme (“Bitch, knew she’d take your side,” Mickey mutters) and kids’ stuff for Yev. Her card is just a picture of her and her boyfriend at the beach but Mickey sticks it on the fridge anyway, right next to a photo of the four of them — Ian, Mickey, Svetlana and Yevgeny — and some of Yev’s artworks.

Ian gets Mickey the full ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy (“Heard they’re a trek to get through, so I figured you wouldn’t finish them so fast.”) and Svetlana a massage voucher (Mickey cracks a few jokes about the legitimacy of the massage parlour she used to run, until Svet threatens to tell Yevgeny Mickey’s role in the running of that business. They both know she wouldn’t but Mickey shuts up anyway). 

Yev is predictably excited about the tablet, and the soccer gear that the three of them had gotten him. Mickey smiles a little, though, when after the presents he picks up one of the books and heads back to his room with it.

Mickey’s a little nervous about giving Ian his present — it occurs to him that it’s the first present he’s ever given him, which, after six years of dating, feels like a big deal.

Ian makes a show of shaking the box a little, putting it next to his ear in a way that makes Yev laugh and Mickey roll his eyes.

Mickey can’t make out his expression — it remains infuriatingly blank as he lifts the lid — but then he breaks out into a wide grin.

“Mick, I love it.”

“What is it?” Yev asks, pushing Mickey aside to get a look. 

Ian pulls out a baseball, throwing it to Yev who yelps but manages to catch it in both hands. He laughs a little as he pulls out a pair of gold shorts, holding them out for Svetlana to see. There’s a Snickers bar that Ian promises to share with Yev, and 

Underneath, though, is the real present. Ian pulls out the sheet of paper and reads through it once, quickly. He gets to the bottom and then glances up at Mickey.

“Is this for real?” he asks, eyes wide, holding out the paper with a photo of the cabin in the woods that Mickey had printed out, and Mickey nods. “When do we go?”

“January, just for a few days.”

“I love it, Mick, thank you!” He pulls Mickey forward and kisses him, and Mickey can feel him smiling against his lips.

Svetlana gets up to put away breakfast and Yev takes his stuff over to his room while Ian and Mickey pack up.

“Happy with your stuff?”

“More than I’ve ever gotten before.”

“It’s not much,” Ian spreads his hands out and glances at the torn wrapping paper and coils of ribbon on the ground — Svetlana’s work, of course — and the newspaper Ian and Mickey had used to wrap their gifts.

“Not just the presents, man.” He steps forwards, putting both his hands on Ian’s waist. Instinctively Ian places his own around Mickey. “All of it. The dinner, the stupid decorations. You,” he adds quietly.

Ian smiles and Mickey reaches a hand around Ian’s neck, pulling him down to meet his lips. Ian’s smiling against his mouth and then he’s laughing and then they’re both laughing, their noses bumping as they kiss.

“I love you,” Ian whispers.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning on writing something fluffy and sweet but it ended up a whole lot more like a fix-it fic (probably influenced by 7x10 and 7x11, because I really wanted to see Ian and Mickey and all of them talk out all their issues, and it probably also explains the liberal physical contact/'I love you's)  
> I hope I did justice to the Americanisms (and an American Christmas, for that matter), but if you notice anything amiss, let me know!  
> Hope you enjoyed!  
> (You can find me on tumblr at strawberry-milkovich on tumblr)


End file.
